


Mirror, mirror

by Maewn



Series: Lovaas do Vulon Ahrk Peyt [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 13:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6567811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maewn/pseuds/Maewn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Face it, my love,” she says, a grin spreading across her lips no matter how hard she tries to stop it. “You can’t be perfect at everything.”</p><p>The Dovahkiin struggles with the art of scrying. His wife finds this amusing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror, mirror

There is something rather satisfying about being able to outdo her husband in something.

The elf in question, glares across the table, frowning at the scrying bowl.

She smiles back, knowing there is no real anger behind his brilliant eyes.

“Face it, my love,” she says, a grin spreading across her lips not matter how hard she tries to stop it. “You can’t be perfect at everything.”

“I should at least be able to scry something simple,” he grumbles, gesturing at the silver bowl of clear water before him.

She hides another smile. Scrying is a rather delicate task, easily upset and ruined. It takes _years_ to gain the steady hand and stillness needed to properly scry. And although she knows her husband’s years of experience far outnumber her own, the man specializes in destruction magic. Not exactly delicate work that.

His magical aura always feels like lightning, sharp and exhilarating. A melding of beauty and danger that intrigues her.

A flicker of fire dances above the silver bowl, mere fingertips away from the surface of the water. She watches as he directs the flames to fan out, forming several rings of fire that interlock.

“Show-off,” she says fondly, summoning a tiny fireball, moving it through the rings. It’s harder than it looks.

“Says you,” he fires back, flicking his fingers just so, and the rings of flame spin faster. She shakes her head, releasing her spell, knowing she cannot keep up with him.

He reshapes the fire and in the next instant, a miniature dragon hovers above the bowl.

She wonders if perhaps she might see a dragon one day, to see with her own eyes the terrible beauty of the creatures that hold the same strength her husband does.

He hums softly, and lets his spell fade.

There is silence for a time before his gaze turns once more to the water. Bright eyes narrow, round pupils thinning into serpentine ones.

He murmurs something, low and in a tongue rarely heard outside the battles of dragons. The water ripples and something appears, dim and distant on its surface.

She gapes, staring as the image of a dragon with red scales and dark eyes sharpens and becomes crystal clear. The creature shakes its head, trying to dislodge a much smaller dragon with black scales and silver eyes that is crawling across its snout.

The image abruptly scatters and the water seems to flood with shadow. Her husband leans back in his chair, looking tired. His pupils are swiftly reverting to their former, elven shape.

“Interesting,” he murmurs. “The dovah tongue is not easily used to scry. It is…draining.”

“It was still impressive for a first try,” she says, moving to collect the bowl. “If cheating.”

“Using my considerable talents is not cheating,” he replies as she dumps the water into a nearby pot of scathecraw.

“Considerable talents?” she asks, arching a brow.

His eyes narrow.

“Asking for a demonstration, are we?” he purrs.

She grins. “You’ll have to catch me first,” she says, already darting for the stairs.

His soft laughter echoes behind her as he follows her on light feet. She doesn’t mind being caught in the slightest.


End file.
